


class clown & beauty queen

by guineaDogs



Category: Lorde (Musician), South Park
Genre: F/F, Genderfluid, Hook-Up, Marijuana, Randy Week 2019, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 09:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: Randy Week Day 1: Alter EgosGrad school was hard, and as a reward for surviving so far, Wendy bought a ticket and a backstage pass to see her long-time idol. Little did she know at the time that it would end up being more than a meet-and-greet.





	class clown & beauty queen

**Author's Note:**

> You've read the tags. You know what this is, and you can find me [here](https://thaumatroping.tumblr.com/) if your heart ever-so desires.

In many ways, grad school was the bane of her existence. She  _ needed _ it; a bachelor’s degree in her major was essentially useless, and she was sure that a master’s would be insufficient by the time she was finished, but that was why she was already applying to doctoral programs already, even though this entire semester was dedicated to editing and defending her thesis. Of course, sustaining that academic life was expensive. She had grants and matriculation waivers from working on campus as a TA, but it was far from her only job, and each semester she dug herself deeper and deeper into debt.

Wendy often felt like she was nearing her breaking point: there were only so many books she could read, so many papers she could write, so many carafes of coffee she could consume in an effort to keep up with her responsibilities. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if the expectations weren’t so drastically different from when she was in undergrad. Back then, it was possible to justify missing a class, or cultivating a social life. But now? Late nights were still a thing, but they were often spent at the campus library until it inevitably closed, and juggling multiple jobs meant that the only real day she had ‘off’ was Sunday, and that was almost exclusively spent catching up on laundry and the general upkeep of her off-campus apartment. 

That much-needed socialization had to wait until the brief breaks between semesters because it took absolutely everything to keep her head above water. It didn’t help that each course demanded a ton of work, as if their course was the only one that mattered, or the only one their students were taking. Some of the professors could be counted upon not to understand what she and most of her peers endured each semester, particularly the one who announced that anyone in graduate school  _ shouldn’t _ have had any kind of job at the same time. 

What kind of tone deaf bullshit was that? That professor didn’t live in reality, but  _ she _ did. So she kept her tight schedule, her budget austere. 

If there was one exception to the rule, it was Treat Yo Self Day. Normally this meant buying a new pair of shoes or a new outfit—nothing too crazy, and no matter what it tended to be something she actually needed in some capacity. This time it was different. When Spotify gave Wendy a push notification about Lorde tickets going on sale, it felt like a sign.

She  _ loved _ Lorde’s music, had for a very long time. As she checked the dates, it felt even more like an opportunity she needed to seize. There were full packages available, including backstage passes to  _ meet _ Lorde right there in New York the night before she was set to fly out of JFK for the holidays back home in Colorado. Wendy knew she would probably be exhausted and potentially hungover on the flight home, but she never had issues sleeping during flights, and it regardless it would be well worth it. 

So she splurged. She bought the full package, marked her calendar, and let that be the thing that got her through the rest of the semester. If everything went according to plan, it would serve as a reward for earning her master’s degree. It would be the breath of fresh air she desperately needed, and she couldn’t wait.

* * *

Fortunately, December came quickly. 

_ Un _ fortunately, it came too quickly for some of the professors on her committee. The more particular of her advisors insisted that she couldn’t possibly proceed with her presentation and defense unless she had a section dedicated to  _ this one particular topic. _ That was back in September. By the end of October, she had those additions completed. The feedback, though?  _ This section is too large, Miss Testaburger. You’ll need to cut back. _

Which was bullshit, but what could she do but do as she was told? So she did. She got the edits in as quickly as possible, over four weeks before the semester was over, but try as she might, she couldn’t get the  _ one _ person on her committee to give their approval before time ran out. Finishing up her degree was postponed a semester entirely because of this specific professor, and while she was convinced it was the university’s way to bleed her dry, there was nothing she could do about it. 

It wasn’t the end of the semester she wanted, but at least she had Lorde to look forward to. That was the single good note she was ending the year on.

What she hadn’t factored in—whether through repressed memory or the sheer need to look forward to something fun and worthwhile—she forgot that Lorde was far from being the best live performer. In fact, she kind of sucked. But between the booze goggles and the energy of the amphitheater, it didn’t matter. 

It was the most fun she’d had in a long time.

Going backstage? Even cooler. Wendy hadn’t met a celebrity before, especially not like this. She stood in line with a small group of other girls waiting for their turns to meet Lorde. As her turn approached, she could feel her heart thrumming in her chest. Nerves were coming at her hard, and Wendy hoped she managed to keep her resolve and not completely embarrass herself in front of Lorde.

When it was finally her turn, she found herself immediately gushing. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve been a huge fan for a long time—” 

“Thanks,” Lorde responded genially. “What’s your name?”

Oh  _ fuck _ she was already embarrassing herself, wasn’t she? “Wendy.”

“Wendy, have you ever been to one of my concerts before?” Lorde’s eyes scanned over her from the couch she sat upon. Wendy felt like she was on display, and her cheeks burned.

“You performed at a party my ex-boyfriend threw back when you first started your career, actually.”

“Oh damn,” came the response, almost distractedly as Lorde rolled a joint on the coffee table. So focused on watching her, Wendy didn’t notice the other fans being ushered away by security. “Wanna smoke?”

_ Did she want to smoke _ —of course she did! She’d do lines of coke off her vulva if Lorde asked. As Lorde lit up, Wendy took a spot beside her on the couch. As Lorde smoked, she sank into the deep leather couch and passed the joint over as she exhaled. 

“It’s good shit, got  _ tegridy. _ ”

Wendy thought nothing of it; Tegridy Farms was one of the top of the line cannabis companies in the country. Of course someone like Lorde would buy the good kush. Little thought went into anything at all, really, it only took a couple hits before the apprehension she felt about meeting her idle ebbed away into a comfortable high. 

Their conversation was more fractured than anything. A comment about the weed here, a comment about Lorde’s music there, followed by the sort of silence that only came when two people who were high out of their minds spaced out at the same time. Wendy wasn’t sure when they started crowding each other’s space, but eventually, it happened. 

Lorde’s side pressed against hers, her fingers idly brushing Wendy’s hair while Wendy’s pinky ghosted along Lorde’s thigh. And then, Wendy’s momentarily lack of filter got the best of her. “I remember when you rubbed your clit on stage.”

“You can rub my clit right now if you want to.”

It was blunt, straight to the point—but fuck if smoking weed didn’t make Wendy horny, too. Shifting some so she could observe Lorde better, she slid her hand over Lorde’s thigh to her crotch. She had a penis, but it was something that didn’t concern Wendy: it didn’t change how she felt, and she took it in stride. 

She stroked her thumb over the muscle hidden beneath Lorde’s incredibly short shorts, relishing in the soft groans she managed to pull from the other woman. It was hot, and she own muscles spasm in arousal. When Lorde leaned in to kiss her, it felt like a fire was lit within her.

Wendy’s free hand brushed alongside Lorde’s cheek, eventually nestling in her long brown hair as their lips met, their tongues entangled. Lorde tasted like whiskey and weed, and Wendy was living for it. Lorde’s hands were all over her, sliding along her sides, padding at her back before finally tugging Wendy into her lap.

This was better, with Lorde’s thumbs rubbing over her nipples through the thin fabric preventing direct contact. Wendy moaned into their kiss as she rocked her hips against Lorde. She might have come to concert braless, but she’d absolutely worn panties, and they were soaked now.

Her own hands slid over Lorde’s chest, mostly teasing touches, but she inevitably had a goal in mind. It was one she was on the page with Lorde regarding: as she slid her fingers under Lorde’s shorts to stroke her fingers against her, Lorde unbuttoned Wendy’s pants, sliding her fingers beneath her panties. Two fingers slid against either side of Wendy’s clit, rubbing against her, before travelling further down to push into her.

As those fingers tapped against that ridged part that drove her wild, Wendy leaned against Lorde, her free hand clutched her thigh as she pressed her forehead against Lorde’s shoulder, hips twitching against Lorde’s hand. Their moans filled the room, and at some point after a wave of intensity washed over Wendy, Lorde found her ability to speak in coherent words. “Do you want to come back to my hotel suite?”

Wendy’s legs were still trembling as she nodded. “I’d love to.”

* * *

It was five in the morning when the phone rang. Stan groaned, reaching blindly over for it. When he saw the caller ID, he groaned even more. “Don’t tell me you missed your flight again,” he said immediately, refraining from offering his father any sort of greeting when he clearly forgot about time zones.

“Oh, no, I’m at the airport now.” Randy praddled off about something that Stan didn’t quite follow before finally getting to the reason for his call. “Guess who I fucked last night, Stan. Or, Lorde did, technically.”

“Dad. I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Wendy. Lorde fucked your ex-girlfriend, Stan.”

Stan’s irritated groan was much louder this time, no doubt waking up his boyfriend when he felt a hand squeeze his hip. “What the  _ fuck _ , Dad! Why would you do that?  _ Why would you tell me? _ ” He and Tweek had plans to grab coffee with her while she was in town. How was he even supposed to look at her? Did she even realize? This was the last thing he wanted to wake up to.

Hanging up on Randy before he had a chance to hear whatever he had to say, Stan opened up his messages to shoot one to Wendy.

_ You know Lorde is my dad, right? _

_ WHAT????? _

  
  



End file.
